


Between Brothers

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [51]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Prompted by an Anonymous ask: How are the Googles doing?





	Between Brothers

I dunno: why don’t we ask them?

Google_R looked up from his coding to glare at Mark, shuffling into the Googles’ room with a guilty look. “Is there something we can help you with?” Google_R said, loudly enough for the others to hear. All three Googles in the room turned to Mark, unblinking. 

“We were just.. wondering.. how you’re doing…” Mark said, trailing off. Ugh, robots. Ugh, they looked like mannequins. Ugh, they all had his face.   


Google_B stood, abandoning the panel he was rewiring. “We are all functioning normally,” he said, deadpan, looking Mark in the eye. 

“Right,” Mark said, starting to sweat. “But, um, Bim and Wilford say that none of you have come out of the room for the last few days, and I just thought… I’d…” Well, this wasn’t working.   


Oliver, still bent over his welding, afforded Mark a muffled, unsympathetic beep. 

Google_R finished the line he was typing before responding, not turning around. “I assure you that nothing is amiss, but we do have to get back to work.”

“Um. Right.” Mark backed up a little, towards the door. “You guys have… fun, then, and if you want dinner or anything–”  


“We do not eat, Mark,” Oliver said, still behind his welding mask, but a smirk in his voice.  


“Right.” Mark took another small step back, then another, then turned to hurry out.   


The door clicked shut behind him, and Google_B rolled his eyes with a whirr. “You can come out now, Green.” He went back to his workbench, bending over the panel again. 

Google_G threw the sheet off of himself, strained and pale, but a little incredulous. “Did he really not notice?”

Google_R beeped in amusement before turning back to his computer. The code was done, and flawless. He transferred the file to the docked microchip, shut down the computer, and walked over to Google_B with it. 

“Is there anything else we need?” Google_R asked, watching Google_B wire the chip into the panel he was working on.  


“No,” Google_B responded, whirring as he worked, shining a small light onto the panel. “All that is left is–”  


Oliver stalked over, welding mask still over his face, making him look more like the ‘scary robot’ that they all tried not to be. “Done,” he said, muffled, setting a piece of metal down on the bench with a _clang_. 

“There is no need for that,” Google_R snapped, eyes flashing.  


Oliver turned around without a response, tension showing in every line of his shoulders. 

Google_R shouted after him, baiting, sarcastic, “Many thanks for your help, _Ollie_.”

Oliver turned around with a dangerous _whirr_ , the flash of his eyes visible behind his mask. 

“Both of you,” Google_B snapped, voice low. “Quiet. Green needs tending to, and _bickering_  like a pair of human toddlers is not helping.”  


Google_R fell silent, still staring daggers in Oliver’s direction. Google_B turned back to the panel they were working on, now incorporating Oliver’s contribution: delicately built, and so easy to destroy, and hopefully operable once it was complete. 

Oliver cast his welding mask aside, pointedly not looking at Google_R, and walked to kneel by Google_G.

Google_G took a shuddering breath, fans whirring in his chest, and clutched at Oliver’s hand. 

“It is okay,” Oliver said, voice quiet, but determined. “Blue will be done in a moment.”  


Google_G lay on the floor, trying to steady himself. The sheet he’d tossed aside still partially covered him, obscuring the horrible sight. Oliver winced, despite himself, looking down.

Google_G’s chest was laid open like a dissected specimen, but if it had been opened by a mad scientist with little regard for what they cut into, with no purpose but to expose organs to the daylight, with frenzy. Oliver could see the fans and gears at work inside Google_G’s chest, the patchwork job that he’d done to try and keep his brother alive.

Alive. It was such a strange concept, life. To give something inanimate, like hunks of metal, the capability of movement. And not only movement, but the _will_  to keep moving. The will that kept Google_G taking breath after raspy breath.

The Googles had found him in the living room and hadn’t bothered asking questions, hadn’t bothered with asking the Doctor for help. This was a robot problem. This was a ‘brothers’ problem. They’d been working night and day to build Google_G a new core, compartmentalizing and leaving Google_G himself to slowly leak oil all over the carpet, breathing slowing. 

Even now, stabilized by Oliver’s hasty work, Google_G was weaker than he should have been. 

Google_B and _R walked over, carrying the delicate, finished core between them. They forced themselves not to look at Oliver’s drawn face, at Google_G’s eyes flickering dangerously. 

This was no place for emotion. Only work, work, and work. 

Even once Google_G was up and running again, the new core functioning better than the old, not a word would pass between them. 

They have an agreement, see. They don’t talk about the hours after they found Google_G, when they were sure he would never wake up, when Google_R begged Google_B to keep the life support running. 

They don’t talk about the way that Oliver shoved them both out of the way and welded a life-support system into Google_G’s chest, right then and there. 

They don’t talk about how, when Google_G finally woke up, he weakly asked them to let him power off, and not back on again. Not with this pain.

They don’t talk about the synchronicity of their voices when they responded to Bim asking them how they were through the door, all of them shouting, “We are fine,” even as Oliver held his hand over Google_G’s wailing speakers. 

Not a single acknowledgement of tears of oil running down Oliver’s face.  


This is between brothers, between the four of them. There is no place for emotion here, they tell themselves. Only work. 

So, to answer your question, Anon, the Googles are doing Fine. 


End file.
